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Stories always tell
of the one who wanders, then
returns home…like me.
…create. Impatient
that I won’t pay attention
when I’m writing stuff.
Listserv fight breaks out.
Among civil people, the
retorts well-researched.
At the interview
J’s hired on the spot, full of
new employee glee.
Has it really been
a month since I told you all
about my day, dear?
J replaced my mouse
that broke. M’s card made me cry.
Both my greatest gift.
Deciding who to
take like negotiating
Mideast peace treaty.
Who will you be, and
from where? What will have brought you
here – mere chance or choice?
My weirdness is as
apparent in my kids as
streaks in a fake tan.
From a Revealing
start to this auspicious point -
my life in short form.
In wordless despair
M dissolves in tears clutching
me like a life vest.
We all complain there’s
no place to plug in. One by
one, our laptops die.
Emily Bronte * labored quietly but I * scream “Here are my words!”
It’s fun to see what
it’s like and then go back to
being nobody.
a dilemma of
riches in tiny topaz
the art of language
“Read my poem? Please?”
In real life I’d get blank stares.
Here, you’re back for more.
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